4/26/2026
A creature of night-time prowls, the owl is more often heard than seen. Tonight, Mom, Papa, Lucy, Fred, Charla, and I sit in a loose semicircle around the nesting box, the sky darkening around us. As the light fades from the crisp air, everything forms into the shape of owls which slips into shadows. Soon a shape wings out of the dark mass of trees. As one, we lift our binoculars and cameras. The owl disappears into the void that is the hole, then reamerges with his dark eyes glaring at us humans. I snap a few photos before he melts back into the darkness.
Twenty minutes later
Believe it or not, it’s 9:15 and we have seen no sign of the owl. I check my watch again. NOTHING. I have begun to form hypotheses on why she hasn’t come out. Maybe she already went to the bathroom, or maybe the male took over egg duty when he came in. I stopped staring at the hole a long time ago and turned to sitting in the creaky blue chairs. I watch the moon slowly climb into the dark sky, silhouetting the needles and branches of pine trees. Finally, Papa whisper-shouts, “There she is!” The sky has dimmed so much I can barely make out the box, let alone the dusky gray head I know is peaking out. Another whispered exclamation of “there she goes!” announces her departure. Papa’s headlight turns on and shoots a beam of light into the forest. He runs over to the nest box, and heaves the ladder up the tree. The metal rungs glint silver in his light, before his headlamp disappears inside the box. A moment later, Papa clambers back down the ladder, his boots clanking softly on the metal. He sets the ladder against a nearby tree and runs back over.
“I could hear them peeping!” He exclaims, showing us the photos of the nest. Inside four fluffy, white chicks huddle together besides one unhatched egg. Three Western Deer Mice surround them and more mouse legs and tails lie discarded in the corners. Bird feathers stick out of the wood chips at odd angles. All I manage is, “We’re going to have quite the mess to clean up this fall.”
Photo shoot completed, we head back into the cabin, where the wood stove crackles. We all pile onto the couch and zoom in on different parts of the photo. Later that night, as I lay in bed, I imagine the owlets in a couple weeks, all grown up and gray, though perhaps not completely independent. Little baby owls fly in and out of my dreams.
Until next week,
Dottie
Missoula Bird Nerds 